When I'm Alone
by Calico West
Summary: The trail home is never without trouble, especially for Jess Harper.


When I'm Alone

The trail to Laramie up in the hill country wasn't as wide open as the main stretch of roadway where stagecoaches, wagons and a varied amount of saddle-sore men regularly traversed. When I was out journeying alone, like I was now, only partnered with my horse, I preferred the more distant pathways. It's quieter, simpler, a bit challenging facing unknown locations, but no matter where a man on horseback roamed, he was never fully free of trouble. I knew that all too well.

With the sun at my back, the view that was most directly in front of me was my shadow. I knew my outline, as any normal man would, but just the way the sun created that splash of darkness on the ground, moving along at the same steady pace as my mount trod, covering every blade of grass, rock or bush, I couldn't help but watch the scene shift and change beside me. My hat was the only thing on me that matched the color on the ground, well, maybe my gun, but it was nestled snuggly against my right hip, and my bodily frame hid its image on the earth. I removed my hat for a moment to wipe my jacketed sleeve against my forehead, and my unruly locks took their disheveled shape in the shadow. Dropping the hat back in place, I shifted my whole body as a sparsely used crossroad path opened up before me, and as my torso twisted, the ground scenery showed more of my leaner frame. I coulda said it was a slim shape, but that ain't me.

The sun was the perfect temperature, not too hot, just warm enough to dampen certain parts of my body with sweat. A breeze stirred the air, making each breath as it entered my lungs feel as fresh and clean as the early morning dew. Sitting in a saddle, riding like I was, without any cares or concerns, made a swell of contentment form in my chest. I could stay like this for endless hours. Some months back, I woulda said days upon days. But being on the drift was in the past. Now, I was heading home.

Home. There'd been many years where that word never existed for me, for the only place I hung my saddle was wherever I landed for the night. I rarely cared where my horse would lead me, just as long as I was going. That all changed when I dropped my gear on Sherman land. Even though I've lit out a time or two since settling down, I always seem to find my way back on a trail leading to Laramie. I reckon that's how I finally knew it was home, too. You go where your heart is, and since the big open didn't seem to have the same pull as it once did, I found a place where that heartbeat was the strongest. Slim and Andy, Jonesy too, that was home.

A wanderer by nature, I'd spent many days alone, where loneliness was so accustomed to feeling that I didn't recognize it anymore, until it departed. I remember Jonesy telling about how lonely Ed Farrell was. Maybe that was a different kind of loneliness, I dunno, but in a strange way, I could relate to the man that wanted to murder my best friend. Farrell's loneliness came because of tragedy in his life, growing stronger every year as he festered on revenge. I wasn't much different. I knew hardship, darkness and death. Too much of it. And the result from the most difficult time in my life was based on vengeance. A lotta men take on a journey of hate, but where it winds up leading us can be many different routes.

We all gotta make a choice. Farrell, and other men like him, chose to do wrong. I reckon I chose differently, or maybe somewhere along the line it was changed for me, but instead of growing bitter, I grew stronger. There's a difference. And that choice made a lot more sense when I got to Laramie. When you have a purpose in life, someone other than your own self to care for, the things of the past take on a different view, as if all those off the beaten paths were in a direct route for home. It did for me. I knew I'd feel the same swell of emotion inside of my chest when I would ride up to the ranch house again, hopefully in just another day or two's time.

It was sometime in early afternoon and my stomach was having an angry conversation with me. I reached my hand into a saddlebag, producing only a little left of something that was edible. I'd already been on my horse eight days, that is, if I counted the right number of sunrises and sunsets after leaving Montana, so it wasn't surprising that my supply was becoming limited. I jostled my lightweight canteen and decided to wait until I was certain I could fill it back up before draining the remainder down my throat. Knowing I could satisfy both needs in a town, I turned Traveler on a more visible trail that I knew would somewhere attach to a road. Once we made the connection, it wasn't long before it grew even wider, a clear indication that a settlement wasn't far ahead.

There are still towns in Wyoming Territory that I ain't familiar with, and I had just ridden into one. The sign that welcomed me had a couple of letters with the paint completely peeled away, with the last 'T' barely noticeable, but from what I could tell, I was entering Brackett. Although by the missing spaces, it coulda been just Brake. Just as long as it wasn't broke upon my leaving, I didn't care what they called it. The town was quiet, or so it appeared from my point of view on top of my horse, which happened to be the only one walking along the street. There were a couple of other mounts tied to various hitching posts, but they looked to be just as sleepy as the rest of the town. I pulled mine to a stop outside of a brightly painted saloon, aptly dubbed, "The Painted Lady", and with a pat to his flank after dismounting, I left Traveler to converse with the dappled gray on the adjoining post.

It kinda gives a man an odd feeling when you step through a door and all eyes turn to you. I figured the street musta been bare because all the men were doing their congregating in the saloon, and instead of drinking, they were watching. Me. I tried not to stare back at anyone in particular, but staring down at floorboards had never been something I was accustomed to doing so my eyes didn't stay downward very long. I thought maybe the fellows sitting over their individual glasses were waiting for someone special to enter until the cold gazes continued to be thrown in my direction during my slow walk to the bar.

I couldn't help but wonder if there was something about me that stood out among everyone else in the room, but from first glance, the saloon's patrons didn't look any worse for wear than me. It was true that I wore a large piece of earth on me in the form of dust that curled up in wisps from my chaps as I walked, and since my cheeks hadn't met up with a razor for a few days maybe my appearance was a little rougher, but it shouldn't have been enough cause to stare, unless... I turned my head discreetly to give a sniff and then not so subtly shrugged my shoulders. I didn't smell any worse than usual. Maybe these townsfolk just don't cotton to strangers.

I requested a whiskey but wasn't rewarded the glass until I showed the bartender a coin. The sound of the money slapping onto the bar was rather loud since the entirety of the room had gone silent. Even the whiskey being poured made noise, and for that liquid gurgle to be heard in a saloon meant that the whiskey drinker was the only customer or that something serious was going on and I'd already established that I wasn't alone in the room.

"What's made this place so sullen?" I asked and then drained my glass, trying not to wince at the same caliber as the fire that was going down my throat. It cut the dust though. I paid for another.

The bartender refilled my glass, his eyebrows raised so high they nearly reached his hairline. "Don't you know?"

"How can I when I just rode in?" The whiskey doesn't make my voice sound more gravelly, that's something that just triggers when annoyed or angry, and I admit I was feeling both.

"Bank was robbed today," the bartender answered, turning away from me but somehow still narrowing his eyes in my direction, and began to polish cups that probably couldn't have been cleaned if they were put into a pot of boiling water. Some would say it just made the whiskey taste riper. "A couple of men were killed."

So that was it. It wasn't about my looks, my dust showering walk, or the gun that hung perfectly on my hip, but my only crime was just being there. Guilty of being a stranger. Kinda reminded me of when I first rode into Laramie and everyone was out to shoot me just because I didn't wanna stop when someone said to do so. Unlike that situation that ended up being a turning point in my life when the road led me to Slim's private property, I didn't think it possible that the animosity being hurled at me would turn out with a similar happy ending.

I drained my second glass of whiskey, wanting to put the shiver producing gazes at a distance when one of them cold stares suddenly turned heated. While the batwing doors were squeaking back and forth it was as if a red hot poker reached out and tapped me on the back. Footsteps began to approach me from behind and by the sound of chairs being scooted back and everyone parting the way, I kinda figured someone important had made an entrance.

It was too late to wish I'd satisfied my need for liquid in the way that my horse had done outside and dip my face into the water trough. If I could've let a wishful thought come my way, it woulda been more toward having whoever was coming up behind me get their head dunked into the trough instead, because he was still coming. I would never keep my back to anyone that I deemed a threat unless they were already holding a gun on me. To prevent that red hot poker feeling from turning into a real jab into my flesh, I turned around, my hand keeping a close distance to my gun.

The man in front of me was younger than myself, with pale blond hair that looked like it belonged on a kid's head and not a man's. He wore a black shirt, and I couldn't help but wonder if it didn't belong to him, for it was at least one size too big, but it was tucked into form fitting jeans, kinda like my own, revealing a well worn gun belt around his hips. I'm sure he was sizing me up too, from my black hat that hid most of my sweat dampened locks, to my dirt-crusted boots, settling that icy gaze onto my iron before sending a dagger from his light blue eyes right to my own blue pair.

"You're one of them." He pointed at me, wagging his finger three times like he was chopping the air in half before settling the point to go directly toward my face.

"I don't know you," I said with a slight shake of my head, "and you don't know me. I just got into town a few minutes ago."

"You can lie all you want," he spurted his words out like a boiling teakettle. "I know perfectly well that you're one of the murdering thieves that hit town today. You think you're pretty smart showing back up like nothing happened, but I'm smarter than that!"

"I tell you I ain't…" Have I ever mentioned it grates on my nerves to be interrupted no matter the cause, no matter by whom?

"My brother was shot down today and you're going to pay for that!"

"How?" I asked the question, but I knew what the irate blond had in mind. "You gonna get the law after me, or are you gonna handle me yourself?"

"I'm going to put a bullet in the exact place where my brother took one."

Obviously I had no knowledge of where that was, or if this man whose face took on the shade of a garden beet could actually deliver his threat, but I had to take him seriously. I didn't blame him for his attitude. He'd lost a brother. I knew what that was like. I could only imagine how fierce I'd be if Slim or Andy had been shot down in a bank hold-up back in Laramie and then come face to face with a stranger that I suspected could've been a part of it. Likely I already woulda blowed his head off and then ask all them questions afterward. But understanding didn't change the way it were.

"I don't wanna shoot you, Boy," I said, hoping that my message would truly be delivered. I meant it, however, I couldn't stop my body from turning rigid and my feet solidifying the gunfighter's stance. That's a pure reaction to being challenged, and even if I lived long enough to age up into my eighties, I'd likely still instantly form a proper gun-pulling posture.

I didn't wanna draw against this man. I didn't even know him. Usually when I'm pushed to this position it's because the man across from me has done something against me or someone I care about. When I go gunning, it's personal, built by the fire in my blood. Like how the hatred boiled up inside of me when my friend John MacLean was slain by a bunch of holier-than-thou hangmen, headed up by a self-appointed lawman who tied the knot himself. The way I felt, wanting to obliterate each and every one of them if they woulda shown any sign of going for a gun, was revenge taken right outta the dictionary. I reckon by the way my teeth still get clenched together just by thinking about the injustice done to Mac that I still ain't over it.

Hatred, retaliation, revenge. None of that existed now. Accept for being irritated, I had nothing against this man. He felt he had good reason and as long as he was aiming to draw, however wrong he was, I couldn't run. I wouldn't run. That just ain't who I am. I wasn't afraid of him, but I couldn't tell by his eyes if he was afraid of me. I saw anger and the unmistakable sheen of grief but if there was anything else on display, he did a good job in hiding it.

"Stand your ground, Joey," someone in the background said. It was echoed by at least two different men on the fringes of the room. Too bad they hadn't told him to back down instead.

Joey. At least I knew his name, but putting a handle on a man that wanted to gun me down didn't exactly make the situation any better. I stole a quick glance around the room, but all that I saw was a bunch of men with liquor in their hands, eager for their afternoon's entertainment. It was as if everyone there held their breath, waiting for a gunfight to break out so that they could run to their neighbor's later and boast about it. It was pretty clear in that quick glance that no one wanted to stop the fight. Either they were all on Joey's side, believing I was guilty of robbery and worse, or they didn't care that there was about to be more bloodshed right in front of them. I was glad I didn't hail from Brackett.

"Maybe we should talk this out," I said calmly, "hear my side of this."

"You'd like to delay a bullet," Joey gave a sneer, and I could tell his hand was worse than itchy. "Not a chance! You're going to fight or die right now!"

He drew and so did I, my aim decisive and sure. I had him beat, as my gun came out so fast it made half the saloon gasp. The trigger was pulled and the bullet struck, but not in a place where it'd be a fatal blow. Joey was able to get a shot to fire out of his weapon, but it wasn't aimed at me, but made a hole into the floor that his body covered up as he dropped to the ground, clutching his right shoulder, doing a fair amount of writhing in pain when he landed. I stood still, feeling the emotions that I'd grown accustomed to feeling every time one of my bullets hit someone, which was a strange combination of remorse and relief. Several people stepped back even farther as to give the man some space and one gangly teenager near the doorway went running down the street, which I presumed was to fetch a doctor.

"It ain't too bad," I said after realizing that no one else was gonna come forward to help the wounded man. I dropped my gun back into its holster and then I took the three steps that had separated Joey and me. Although he first recoiled from my touch, I pulled a bandana from my coat pocket and pressed it into the pulsating wound, trying to show the angry man beside me that despite the fact that he was wearing my bullet, I wasn't his enemy. The blood slowed under the pressure of my hand, but I could easily feel his rapidly beating heart and if I woulda had a finger to my own pulse, I woulda discovered it was going at a similar rate. I didn't take pleasure in this fight. Maybe I shouldn't in any fight, but there were men that I'd faced in all my years of gun pulling that needed to fall. This wasn't one of them. I dunno if Joey knew that or not, but he was sure searching me with his eyes. "I was never aiming to kill you, Boy. Your family's had enough grief already today."

Someone was coming for I could easily hear the hurried steps from outside. Once again, I assumed a doc was arriving, and I gave Joey a reassuring pat on his healthy arm, but a doctor wouldn't enter with a shout. "Hold it right there! You step away from Joey, right now, Mister!"

Dad-gum. Another one out for blood? I groaned inwardly as I stood up and then backed away from the man on the floor, my hand instinctively grabbing for my iron. I didn't wanna go face to face with another vengeful man. I was just about to raise my head to find the man behind the snarling voice when a gunshot came from the saloon doors. The bullet hit my weapon right outta my grip and although my hand reacted as if blood had been drawn, no pain seared into my flesh. Rubbing my knuckles, I followed the path of the bullet with my eyes and found myself staring into a badge.

"Sheriff," I reluctantly nodded the acknowledgement. I certainly didn't like the way he kept the gun pointed at my vitals, but then again, I'd just shot a young man. The lawman didn't know just yet it was in self defense.

"Someone get Joey off to a doctor," the sheriff's command finally got some action from the men in the saloon. It took three of them to carry him off and once the injured man was on his way out the door, the heavy-set lawman turned his attention fully to me. "What's going on here?"

"I'm not sure myself," I replied, feeling wary, even though I knew the truth would back me up. "My name's Jess Harper. I came in here for a couple of drinks, and that young man, Joey, he called me out."

"Sheriff Smith," he barely gave me a nod at the introduction. The sheriff made a gesture with his hand that wasn't filled with a gun toward the puddle of blood on the floor. "What'd Joey call you out for?"

"He thought I was involved in the bank robbery," I said with a slight shrug, "that I was one of the men who killed his brother."

"Are you?" The question rang like a clanging bell and someone musta echoed its chime, because I heard it more than once.

"No," my voice was like a handful of gravel had just been flung. "You really think I'd be that blamed stupid to be in on a bank robbery and then come back into town like I was invited to a Sunday picnic?"

"Outlaws aren't always the smartest men in the bunch."

That I could agree on. But I was done being accused. I squared my shoulders, my feet were braced, and my jaw was solidly set. I ain't one to take a false accusation lightly. There might not have been much I coulda done with a badge-wearer's gun pointed solidly at me while mine lay outta reach on the floor, but I sure could show that I took offense to his words. Once I flexed my right hand closed, it didn't wanna be released from its fist. I reckon if it wouldn't have been a lawman standing in front of me I mighta just flattened him to the floor with a punch.

"Sheriff," the bartender's voice inched its way over my head and into the sheriff's ears. "Joey did draw first."

"I guess Joey wasn't thinking straight, what with losing his brother," Sheriff Smith sighed, "those two were a close pair. But grieving emotion aside, he could still have a point about you."

"Meaning what?" Dad-gum if he started accusing me again, I just might take a bite outta his shirt.

"Meaning you could be one of those robbers," the gun wasn't just pointing anymore, but began a wave that meant I was to move. And I didn't like the thought of where it'd take me. "There were at least four of them involved, maybe more, so until I know for sure, you'll just do the rest of your complaining in jail."

"Now just hold on," I began my angry retort, but with a gun shoving me out the door, I refrained from letting it turn into a full out tirade.

There are a lot of sounds that I don't like. Rattlesnakes. Mountain lions. Thunder. An angry female. But one of the worst is hearing the sound of a jail door clanking closed, and then locked, with me inside. And unfortunately I'd had the displeasure of hearing that same sound several times before, so I was well versed to its tune. I kept my back to the barred doorway until I heard the keys get chucked onto the office desk and then I turned. The equally spaced black bars interrupted my vision, but not so much that I couldn't tell that the jail was like most I'd been in, adequately equipped and mighty unappealing.

"Look, Sheriff Smith," I said, trying to not display the anger that I felt, although I knew the sheriff was pretty certain what emotion coursed through my veins. "I know I'm a stranger in town, I know I got in a gunfight, but you've got me all wrong. I just came off the trail to shuck some of the dust."

"Uh-huh," Sheriff Smith sorted through what I presumed was a stack of wanted posters on his desk. Looking for my face, no doubt. I was glad I knew he wouldn't find it.

"Take a look at my papers," I said, although before I shoved my wallet through the bars I hesitated. Even though the pardon was there, it'd still prove I'd been on the wrong side of the law before. But still, I didn't think it'd be condemning. "I ain't got nothing to hide."

"In a minute," the sheriff leaned his rather large figure over his desk to pull out yet another stack of posters, maybe these were a bit older, but he'd still not find me amongst them. When Sheriff Smith slammed a drawer shut, I kinda figured that he'd made that same discovery. "All right, let me see what you've got."

He said a few "hmms" and "I see's" during his shuffling of articles outta my wallet, taking longer than necessary to read the pardon from the Territorial Judge. Once he closed my wallet back up and placed it back in my outstretched hand I assumed his next step would be to unlock the cell, but I was wrong.

"You got anyone that can confirm what all those things say?" Sheriff Smith pointed at the wallet before it was slid back into my pocket.

"Yeah," I nodded, my smile none too nice. "Laramie. I reckon the whole town would vouch for me."

"The whole town's not necessary," Sheriff Smith stepped slowly away from my cell with his hand on his protruding middle. "Just the sheriff there. If he says you're in the clear, then I'll let you go."

"Great," I felt the first ounce of relief wash over me. "Get a telegram sent and I can get outta here."

"After supper," Sheriff Smith took a quick glance at his pocket watch, which musta said too near food-o-clock to stop by the telegraph office. "I'll be back in an hour or so."

"Hold on," I said, not even attempting to hide my irritation, "you're heading out to eat? Maybe you should spend more time out doing your job looking for the real bank robbers instead, then you wouldn't have an innocent man in jail."

"Like I said," Sheriff Smith said as he went out the door, "after supper."

There ain't much in a jail cell, course that's kinda the idea for a prisoner of not having any comforts of home. The flimsy cot in the corner certainly wasn't very inviting. I walked over to its position and kicked one of the legs, and I thought the blanket moved more than just the jiggling that I gave it woulda done. The bunk musta been home to some interesting critters. And that now included me. I lowered myself into a seated position, folding my hands under my chin as my elbows rested on my knees, hoping that the sheriff back in Laramie wasn't outta town so the returned wire could get to Sheriff Smith without delay.

I didn't wanna be delayed any further. I'd already been away from the ranch pushing two weeks. I'd volunteered to take a couple of horses that Slim had sold on up to a man in Billings and no sooner than I started the returned trip, I felt a strange excitement that I was going home, back to a bed that wasn't made of hard-packed earth. Dad-gum, maybe I was becoming more domesticated than I'd thought. I'd told Andy the day we met that I wasn't one that could ever be tamed, but here I was, feeling like one of his wildlife pets. Cage and all.

Thinking of home and Andy's wide grin, I was feeling lower than the temperature on the coldest winter's night. It sure hadn't taken me long to attach myself to that boy. I reckon it made a difference in our closeness in that he thought I was something special, too. Course with him in my shadow, it only became natural that Andy started to take on a bit of my character, just as long as it wasn't the shady side. Jonesy, the every observant caretaker to us all, would probably say that I'd rubbed a little off on Slim, too. That's fine with me. Makes us more like blood-kin.

I lifted my head when Sheriff Smith entered, gone went the ache in my chest that had come with thoughts of home as anticipation for being let out filled my being instead. I rose off the bunk and took the short steps to the cell door, but the sheriff paid little attention to me, kinda odd, I thought, if he was gonna let me go. I kept my eye on him, doubts about my release nudging closer in my mind with every second that passed.

"I sent that telegram to Laramie," Sheriff Smith said, seating his ample weight into the chair at his desk. He unfolded a newspaper that was under his arm and with a clunk of his boots on top of his desk, he leaned back into the chair which began to creak under the pressure. "But we won't hear a reply until morning."

"What—"

"That's what I said."

"You mean I gotta spend the whole night in jail?" I asked with both hands in a tight grip around the bars that framed my body.

"Yup."

Dad-gum.

There ain't nothing lonelier than a jail cell. It could be argued that being all alone in the wilderness is deep in the internal level of loneliness, but because I've known a long spell of each, I know the vast difference between them. Out in the wide open, there's companionship with a horse, a certain peacefulness with nature, and the obvious freedom. In jail, there's only me and a bunk with a moth eaten blanket and more than a dozen iron bars. I reckon I shoulda been grateful that I wasn't keeping company with a drunken cellmate or something worse. I've been in that position before. Back in my younger days, when I was still spoiling for a fight, I reckon I woulda been one of those types that cellmates of mine wouldn't have wanted to room with.

My dinner came. Something imitating chicken was on the plate. I gave it a lengthy sniff first before putting it to my lips, uncertain what the taste would be when it got there. Yeah, it was fowl all right, or just downright foul. How could it be burnt and raw at the same time? The bread was the only thing edible, and even that musta been a couple of days old for how dry it was. I took a swig of coffee that woulda served as a better purpose for putting out a campfire and was finished.

The whole mess made me hungry for a heaped up bowl of Jonesy's mulligan. We tease him a lot, but Jonesy really is a pretty good cook. Far better than whoever was employed at Brackett's only diner. Since it was that time of day, as I pushed away the uneaten contents of my plate, I figured that Slim, Andy and Jonesy would be sitting down around the table. Mulligan ain't made as often as we complain about it, as far more times than not, what with being on a ranch that boasts a decent head of cows, the table's adorned with thick steak, ribs, or a juicy roast, sidelined with potatoes oozing with delectable gravy. I could normally polish off a couple of plates full of whatever was on the dinner table at night, but it wasn't just the half-cooked bird still staring at me in the corner of my cell that turned off my appetite. It was just that dad-gummed cell.

I stretched out on the bunk, and surprisingly only once felt something crawl across my cheek before I quickly swiped it away. I didn't think sleep would find me, but I musta dropped off, for I awoke to the sound of the sheriff's office door squeaking open. The sheriff wiggled it back and forth a couple of times, as if at that moment had been the first time he noticed its whine. I'd heard it the first time I'd stepped through. I figured he was just delaying the inevitable, for I knew it was time he was gonna have to face me with the truth. There was the obvious bulge of a telegram sticking outta his shirt pocket.

"Well, Harper," Sheriff Smith said, and I wasn't sure if he looked regretful or annoyed, "I guess I owe you an apology. There were two telegrams. Seems that you're highly regarded in Laramie. By the sheriff, and by your boss, Slim Sherman. Well, since your story checks out by them both, I have no more reason to hold you."

I shoulda been happy, and I reckon I was, but knowing that Slim knew about my stint in jail meant I'd get me a fair piece of ribbing once I returned to the ranch. Slim's usually got more than one word to scratch my ear about all the trouble I find myself in. At least I had a firm point that this time I didn't drag him into it, even though with a telegram sent with his word backing me up, it appeared he was willing. Dad-gum that Slim. I don't know how he does it, but he's always there to pull me outta scrapes, even when they ain't my fault.

No more words were exchanged between us when the sheriff unlocked the cell, and I was rather fine by that. I buckled my gun back to my hip and with a barely there nod in his direction, I left, quickly aiming to retrieve my horse to get outta town. My meager coin supply was already low, and wouldn't you know, I had to pay for Traveler's keep at the livery while I'd been unnecessarily holed up in jail. I wanted to make someone eat the stable's bill when it was thrust into my hand, but I shoved the piece of paper into my saddlebag instead. I brushed the dust off of me, so to speak, as I exited Brackett, thinking as I passed the weather-beaten sign that said it was Brake, that I might not've broke it like I wondered when I entered, but I was sure broke upon leaving.

Back in the saddle, where it felt as if nothing could ever go wrong, I breathed in a deep gulp of clean air. Freedom. It didn't take me long to navigate back to the pathway leading toward Laramie. From now on, until I was close enough to home that I could smell the mulligan cooking, I wasn't gonna stop at any other town. If there was more trouble ahead, it wasn't gonna wind me up in a cold, food-deprived jail.

It was warmer than the day before, and not long into my resumed journey for home, I shed my coat. My hands grabbed for the canteen and dad-gummed, I was in such an all-fired hurry to get outta town, I'd forgotten to fill it with water in Brackett before I left. I drained the tepid trickle that was left, but that only made my throat yearn for something fresher, and since I knew Traveler would be feeling the same, I searched for a stream. I followed a tree line until a clearing opened up and as I searched the layout of the land in front of me, I saw the shimmer of water glinting in the sun. It wasn't very big, but it was wet.

I took my fill and topped the canteen and while I waited for my mount to satisfy his thirst, I stretched the muscles from my shoulders down to my back. If I was a lazy man, it woulda been a perfect spot to stretch out for a nap, but aside from a few times when sleeping under the sun was the only thing on my agenda, I'd rather be on the move. I hung the canteen back in place and was just about to hop a foot into the stirrup when something caught Traveler's attention. His head was turned, his ears were alert and listening, and I immediately became just as attentive.

My gun wasn't pulled, but my hand was mighty close to its handle as I cautiously stepped forward. I didn't stay tense for too long, for it wasn't a rattlesnake, coyote, porcupine or worse that was in front of me. The tension released from my body and the finger that woulda pulled a trigger if the intruder had been a threat raised up to tip my hat back further on my head. "I'll be dad-gummed."

Standing on a small rock that bordered the creek was a kitten, looking about as forlorn as I'd ever seen a little animal to be. I reached a hand out, expecting the response to be a flash of color disappearing in the brush, but was surprised when soft fur latched into my palm. I wrapped both hands gently, yet securely around the kitten and brought it close to my middle. It was a little thing, with short legs, long tail and even longer whiskers. The face and head was solid white, with the only color a pink nose and bright blue eyes. Each paw was a sock of white, but up the legs and over the back and tail were some light gray patches, with just barely noticeable striping through the darkest hues.

"What's a kitten like you doing out here all alone? Did your mamma tote the rest of the family off to greener pastures and leave you behind?"

Course the little ball of fur couldn't answer, except look at me with shimmering blue eyes. I wondered if mine had the ability to look like that when feeling an emotion that's opposite of angry. I've been told before that the depth of blue from my eyes one can get lost in. I don't rightly know if that's true since I don't exactly study myself in the mirror when I shave. But if it were true, I certainly had gone through a good part of my life not using one of my best assets. After a minute or two of doing an uncertain dose of cuddling, I put the little tyke down and then ran a finger down the back of the head and around the side of its neck, giving an extra scratch or two under the chin. I then stood up straight and took the few steps back to my horse.

"You better stay here," I said, talking over my shoulder to the kitten behind me, "find a mouse to socialize with until mamma kitty comes back. I gotta get a few more miles in before dark."

I got back in the saddle and, being one that never looks back, I started out on the southbound trail once more. Then I did what I said I never did. I looked back. I couldn't help it. That kitten started making the most pitiful sounding cry that woulda even made the roughest cowpoke bend. It did to me, anyway, and I've been called some of the worst. I turned my horse around and when I was just a few feet from the mewling baby, I hopped onto the ground, went down to one knee and held out a hand. It was only a few moments until something soft crawled into it.

I don't have much experience with babies. Oh, sure, a foal or a calf will do any day of the week, but not something tiny like this. How do I even hold it? It seemed to know what to do before I figured it out, because little paws started scampering up my arm, over my shoulder, where it nestled into my neck. I put my right hand up around its tail end so it was more secure and next thing I knew, a noise that sounded more robust than a kitten of that size could produce erupted in my ear. There was another noise too, and this one took me longer to figure out its source than the happy purr, until I felt an extra wet nose touch my neck. It seems that the tip of my handkerchief made a good make believe udder, or whatever a milk faucet on a cat is called.

I turned to where my horse waited and ol' Traveler gave me a look that said, "You're a softy, Harper." I gave him a look too, and mine said, "I know, and you better not tell anyone." Of course, with him just being an animal, I don't have to worry none, unless Trav can somehow relay a message to Slim's horse, Alamo. They just might strike up a nickering conversation when they're in their side by side stalls again at the ranch and then if Slim can read his horse's eyes like I can with mine, my secret might get out. But if I know Slim, and I do, he probably already knows my underlying soft heart.

I pulled the kitten away from my now soggy bandana and stroked the back of its neck. There was no question as to what I was gonna do. Take the kitten home. After all, I know perfectly well that there's always room for another stray at the Sherman ranch. It accepted me, so I knew it would accept a wet-nosed kitten. Maybe Andy could give it a name so that it would fit in among Jeremiah, Sam and Jo-Jo. Or, as I was still stuck in those marbles of blue, I could. But what?

"Huh," I stopped my name-searching thoughts as I was suddenly struck with reality, "I can't exactly call you Mister if you're a Miss now can I?"

I peeked. Shoulda known. Damsel's in distress somehow always wound up at my feet.

Well, she's a pretty little thing, with those innocent blue eyes that had a way of imploring straight to my soul. I've always had trouble saying no to a pretty girl, and then doing a lot of squirming while actually doing so. A smile that reaches beyond a tinted lip on up to fluttering eyes can be mighty persuading. But this little gal ain't got none of them painted on frills to turn a man's head, just a face full of dainty white whiskers and a nose almost as pink as the tongue that kept poking out to touch my hand. I'd be dad-gummed if she ain't already tugging at my tender strings. At least I knew if this one was gonna steal my heart, she wasn't gonna put her hooks in me too. Maybe. I reckon she does got a nice set of claws.

She was heading for my bandana again, but I snuggled her into the crook of my arm. She blinked at me, and I almost gave in and let her have it. "Dad-gum," I said looking into her cute little face. "You've got sugar crystals sparkling in your eyes. Just like the lake back home. It's crystal blue, too. Hey, is that what you'd like to be called? Crystal?" I reckoned the little sound that came outta her mouth was my answer. "Good girl, Crystal."

I couldn't expect Crystal to sit on the saddle with me, and I wasn't gonna let her go back to slurping away at my kerchief. Once on the move, I gotta stay as focused on the trail ahead of me as possible, especially now that I had another passenger to tend to. I looked down at my front, debating whether unbuttoning my shirt and letting her ride against my ribs was a good idea, but as I felt the tickle of her whiskers brush against my cheek, I figured that wouldn't do. Couldn't ride the trail laughing my sides off. I draped Crystal over my shoulder and with a snap of my fingers I opened my saddle bag and pulled out my vest. I'd left it off a few days back after getting dumped on by a rain shower. I'd had to strip down and change my attire after the soaking that'd I'd received, grateful then that I'd had a change of clothing along and even more grateful now. I put the vest on and then placed a wiggling kitten in the interior pocket. I wasn't sure she was gonna like her new position, for she squirmed a bit more once settled, but I dunno if it was the beating of my heart that calmed her or the sway of my body on the horse, but she started to purr and then it didn't take long before she musta found some slumber.

Sunset brought me to a small clearing next to a brush covered hill, a good place to set up camp. I situated my saddle into a proper outdoor bed, which I noted would be more than a sight better than what I'd endured the previous night, adding a blanket in case the night air became nippy. Pulling Crystal outta my pocket, I set her on my saddle, briefly concerned that she was gonna hightail it to some hiding place, but I didn't have to worry for long. She settled right in, working her paws back and forth into the blanket. I gave her a gentle rub under her chin, and then she turned her baby-blue eyes on me, her soft little whimper enough to make my rough exterior turn to silk.

"I know you must be hungry," I said, reaching for my saddlebags. "I ain't got anything you're gonna like, unless you'll take to jerky. It's kinda tough, though."

I pulled out my dwindling stash of jerky, which had long since lost its appeal, took a chunk out of it with my teeth and then put the remainder of the stick in front of Crystal. She gave it a few curious sniffs and then proceeded to stuff it entirely into her mouth. She wanted it, but couldn't chew it. Dad-gum, I was having a hard time working it around my tongue myself. I pulled the piece out of her firm grip and with my barely-there fingernails, I pinched, broke and crumbled the jerky into tiny, bite size pieces. Crystal licked up a small portion and once I realized she'd had enough, I dropped the remaining bits back into the saddle bag.

"I'll try to get you something better tomorrow," I stroked Crystal's back, listening to her chest reverberate with sound. "For now, it's time to get some shut eye. I like to be on the trail by first light."

I laid back, one arm cradling the kitten, and closed my eyes. It felt right, having something to protect. I dunno if it's just in my blood, but it sure felt good to be needed. There's a lot more to my character than what I let everyone see. It's easy to show the rough and rowdy parts, as it's what I keep at the surface. It ain't only there, though, for my rocky structure cuts all the way down to my core. I might fight with a high level of intensity, but I can also care fiercely, too. I have compassion, understanding and kindness blended together inside of me and yes, even love. It's not a sign of weakness, it's just the deeper part of me. I reckon Crystal saw that in me from the moment those sparkly blues landed on me.

Just before I fell asleep, a whiskered face tickled my cheek and before I could stop myself from doing so, I laughed. Crystal's purr tried to drown out my chuckle. I gave her a few steady strokes down her back and as she raised her tail up, a wet tongue found the corner of my mouth. She sure knew how to love-up to a man. Dad-gum, wouldn't Slim go wild if he knew I was getting kissed by a pretty girl. All fun aside, I had to get some shut-eye, so I cupped both hands around Crystal's middle and tucked her under the blanket on my chest. With an attempt to sound gruff that went all wrong, I gave a soft command, "go to sleep," and I reckon it musta been obeyed, by both of us.

Dawn came. It was time to get on the trail again. Even acquiring a trail partner, I wasn't about to take away time in the saddle. I sprinkled some jerky on the ground for breakfast and it was lapped up while I packed my gear, which didn't take long since I didn't have much. I ran my hand over my cheek, feeling for the degree of stubble. I'd been able to scrape off the fur that was growing on my face while passing time in a cell, but without a mirror to gander into, I didn't know if I'd succeeded. It felt better, but I reckoned the next time I'd spot a stream I better check out my chin. Didn't want Crystal to think her new parent was part bear.

With a few licks outta my hand from the canteen water that I'd poured there, we were ready to go. Back in my pocket went Crystal and my seat found Traveler's saddle. The road less traveled was right in front of us and it wasn't long before we'd already put some miles of it to our backs. Travel suited me and my horse well, and now I guess I had to add a little kitten who now and then poked her head outta my vest to see where we were going. If Crystal woulda understood, I woulda proudly said, "Laramie."

I try to always be alert. You don't go riding through the backcountry trails with your mind a million miles away. Well, you could, but it'd likely end up getting the rider in a peck of trouble. Being alert is supposed to make you see the potential trouble before it hits, but if there's something hiding behind a rock the size of a house, you won't know about it until you get there. And there was something behind the next rock all right. Not just one, either, but two, three and four something's. Four men to be exact.

I pulled Traveler to a stop, my right hand raising slightly in the air as two of the four held their six-gun's on me, another had a rifle. I kept my left hand on the reins, although instinctively I knew that Traveler wouldn't bolt if one of these jackal's in front of me suddenly did something stupid. Just from experience alone I knew they weren't out in the middle of nowhere for nothing. They were wanted. By everyone but me, that is.

"Drop your weapons," the man that was the closest to me commanded, his gun held without waver in his hand.

I knew I had to obey, but dad-gum did it make my skin burn all the way down into the pit of my stomach that I had to disarm myself. My stare into a set of eyes that were as cold as ice, and they were the darkest of brown that they almost appeared black, lasted five seconds before I shifted my weight in the saddle. I crossed my left arm over my waist and reached for my pistol, giving it a toss into the brush. Then I pulled the rifle free from the scabbard and let it fall to the ground. Both were grabbed up in a moment's time.

"If you've got anything else on you," the gun pointed even higher so that I was looking directly down its barrel, "then you better get rid of it now."

I've got a kitten under my vest, but I didn't say that out loud. I didn't want these four to know that. Crystal could bite and claw, and say a mean word or two in the form of a hiss and a growl, but she wasn't exactly a threat. But they sure could threaten her, even if they didn't know that she was there. She was right over my heart and if they wanted to kill me, my little Crystal would get it first. I narrowed my eyes at the men, and although I didn't know a single name, I knew who they were. Walking in the boots of a gunman like I'd done was a good way to judge an outlaw's character. Just by the way one of them was protectively guarding some saddlebags I knew they were the bank robbers outta Brackett.

"Get off your horse." The one I figured to be the leader sure had a steady hand with that gun. I certainly didn't wanna find out if he had a perfect aim to go with it.

I lowered myself to the ground, turning a sharp gaze to each of the men. The one closest to me, the presumed leader, was a few years older than me, had long, dark hair that went past his shoulders. The next in the row of lawbreakers was tall and thin, with a blank expression on his face that made me wonder if he was either drunk or a little empty upstairs, but he was the only one that didn't hold a gun. The only rifle being held was clutched by a man similar in my size and shape, but above his lip was a long, unkempt mustache, that made his face look like a fuzzy caterpillar had set up residence there. The last, even though he didn't show leadership status, mighta been the most dangerous. He looked like a fighter, and not just a gunfighter, but where fists coulda been thrown too. I knew by the way he narrowed his eyes at me that he'd sized me up as one of the same.

"Let's see what you've got in those saddlebags," the one with the mustache sauntered over to Traveler's side and yanked the bags from his back.

I coulda saved Mr. Mustache the trouble. I knew exactly what I had in there and as he shuffled his hands inside, pulling out the contents one by one, I ticked them off in my head. Hardtack. Crumbled Jerky. Extra shirt and long johns. Oh yeah, and that dad-gummed bill from the livery in Brackett. The disappointment in what the outlaw really was searching for registered on his face. No money. Even if I held a large sum, I knew better than to keep it in my saddlebags. It'd be on me. But I rarely told where.

The jerky was useless unless you had a kitten sized mouth, and the hardtack must not have been appealing, for with at least one snort from each nose when the food was shown, it was promptly discarded into the closest bush. My extra clothes were tossed to the ground in disgust and for an unknown reason that I could never figure out, Tall'n'Thin took the note, appeared to read it for a full minute, even though it only had a tally of Traveler's feed and care on it, and then stuffed it into his hat. When that took place, every set of eyes came back to me. They better not search me, otherwise they'd find something warm in my pocket and doggone it, she was starting to stir.

Mew.

"Shh."

"What'd you say?" Mr. Mustache jabbed me in the ribs with his rifle.

"Nothing."

"Come on, what're you hiding?" The jab was even harder and I couldn't hold my body still from the force. My foot went backward, and a little head poked around the side of my vest which made Mr. Mustache bend over in laughter. "Oh, ho, ho, look at what he's got!"

"Here I thought you were going to be a challenge," the man that wore fight on his face stepped close to me, reaching out for Crystal, but I pulled my vest tighter to me. "And then I see you're just a namby-pamby sissy-cat. Do you have a bunch of posies in your other pocket?"

I bit my tongue, but I wanted to bite someone else's head off instead. I knew what I looked like, and despite a now cowering kitten against my heart, I was the same man that had stood up against countless hard-cases in my past. And I radiated the same temperament as all those times before, maybe even more so now. The fighter stepped forward and even though my feet were stoutly placed, I received a shove, which put my back right into the hands of the long-haired leader. This wasn't gonna go well. My reflex was to hit back, and as my arm came up, it was gripped solidly, and with a firm yank, my arm was twisted and held behind my back. The fighting man was now toe to toe with me, but instead of receiving a bloody nose, he pulled my vest open.

"Let's see how you look without something to mollycoddle," Crystal was unmercifully jerked outta my pocket and before she could sink her teeth into his finger, she was thrust into Mr. Mustache's hand, whom I had to say, held her fairly securely. Fight-man patted my vest back in place and as he looked me over with a sinister grin, he added a loud guffaw. "Huh, that's funny, you look the same!"

If he wanted a fight, he was gonna get one. My arm mighta been pinned, but my legs were free to kick. I gave him the toe of my boot right above his belt buckle, which made him bend in half as he gripped his middle, which gave the rest of my body permission to begin to retaliate against the man that held me back. He was strong, I'll give him credit, for he kept my arm immobile, but I was able to drive the heel of my boot back into a knee, which was almost enough to get him to loosen me. Fight-man had recovered enough that he was now in front of me, and I could see in his being that he wanted me dead, but he'd likely bloody me up first. I wasn't gonna make either task easy for him.

Suddenly, Tall'n'Thin saw Crystal and in that moment, I saw a strange fascination form on his face. Alarm bells started going off in my head and the fight in me started to shift to a different man. When he grabbed her outta Mr. Mustache's hand, her squirming intensified, and then she let out the most pitiful cry any animal could muster. Fight-man and Hairy Leader even turned to view the scene. Tall'n'Thin was pulling her tail, laughing harder with each tug.

"Leave her alone," I barked. Maybe I shoulda made a growl like a cougar, especially since it was a feline I was protecting, and not canine, but the words snapped more like a wolf, but they didn't sink fangs into flesh like I wanted to.

"What's his problem?" Tall'n'Thin jerked a thumb in my direction, which left only two fingers to hold Crystal with. She fought hard to pull away, but Tall'n'Thin wouldn't release. "I have the kitty cat now."

I reckon it didn't matter that when I had the kitten I was regarded as a, oh, dad-gum, I can't even remember what I was called, something sissified anyhow, but when Tall'n'Thin had her, it wasn't funny. My blood was already boiling when all they'd done was tell me to drop my irons. Add some name-calling, manhandling with the intent to do worse, and animal abuse, I was like a lit dynamite fuse.

"You can keep it," Hairy Leader spoke over my shoulder to Tall'n'Thin, "but put it someplace safe."

"So soft and purdy," Tall'n'Thin ignored the repeated hiss as he roughly ran his hand over her fur. I worried what his reaction would be if she decided to pierce his fingers.

Hairy Leader still had a grip on my arm, but it was looser than when Fight-man was about to split my lip. He'd picked the perfect time to release some of the tension, because I was about to blow. I wasn't gonna let Tall'n'Thin put Crystal anywhere. I pressed my feet into the dirt, letting the weight of my upper body be dependent on my unmoving legs as I hoisted Hairy Leader off of my back, over my shoulder and into the dirt. I backed up as Hairy Leader was helped to his feet by Mr. Mustache, ready to take on each and every one of them, even if I had to fight off some lead in the process.

Fight-man came at me first, and since the other three stood their ground to watch, it was apparent that they figured he had enough fighting power to knock me down. Uh huh. We'll see about that. I'm a mighty defensive man. Give me a reason to explode, and I'm gonna. I even like how my chest erupts with the feeling of fiery embers when I'm fully involved in battle. I had an inferno in my core, dynamite in my head and two boulders in my fists, and one of my solidly gripped hands met facial flesh first.

I dodged a return jab and shoved a stout punch into his stomach, receiving a quick response with a knee to my chin. With the air rushing through my mouth in a grunt, I fell down flat on my back but had both hands up to grab the foot that was about to press into my face. I pushed him backward as I hoisted myself outta the dirt and as he came at me, I dropped a hard right into his jaw, once, twice, and the third time around the back of his neck. He went down to both knees, heaving each of his breaths heavily, but I wasn't even winded. I took a step away from him, eyeing each man in front of me, expecting one of them to take on Fight-man's role, but their guns were raised instead.

They waited, holding their positions until Fight-man returned to his feet. With blood in a steady stream coming from his jaw, he filled his hand with his gun and then stood directly across from me. I knew what was coming, but I wasn't gonna flinch. Then Hairy Leader nodded.

Four triggers were pulled. I felt two of them. I musta hit the ground, for my eyes opened and I was looking at the dirt. They were talking over me, but I couldn't make out what they were saying. One word impacted my hearing, though, and I wished it coulda stayed muted with the rest of them. "Dead." I knew I wasn't, but maybe it was a hopeful prediction on their part of what was to come. A foot found my ribs and I was turned over, the pain searing from my neck to my waist and somewhere lower until I nearly passed out. One of them was laughing, I couldn't see who, but I had the strange feeling it was Tall'n'Thin, and knowing he'd been the one threatening Crystal, I found some strength to try to rise. That was a mistake. The foot that turned me now kicked me. Then there was nothing.

Dark. Pain. Make that agonizing pain. A little light. Then too much darkness. I couldn't reach the surface of my own consciousness. I was trying, but the pain and the blood that was coming outta those sources of pain prevented it. My brain was able to work to some degree. It registered the pain. But the darkness wanted to fight the pain. Dad-gum, I almost was willing to let it. But I couldn't. I ain't that kinda man. I ain't the kind to just roll over and die without fighting. I ain't the kind to let scum of the earth win. The light came back, and with it came the blurred images of the land around me. I blinked several times, but even though a clearer vision returned, I hadn't needed the crisp visual to tell me what was gone. The outlaws. Traveler. And Crystal.

I get fueled by anger. The way the red-with-fire emotion pumped through my veins, I could always count on it for strength. This time I was furious. I needed every ounce of that fiery energy to be powerful, because it had to pick me up off of the ground and carry me forward. I took a deep breath and holding it inside my lungs, I gritted my teeth and got to one knee, then the other, and once my feet felt the ground, I let the air flow back through my lips. I'd made it, but dad-gum, that was only the first step.

I'd been hit in the upper chest, hopefully far enough away from what gave me life to prevent it from taking it too soon, but I knew it wasn't good. The bullet was still in there. My leg wasn't holding lead, though, only a lengthy cut where the bullet had passed. Both bled profusely. I pulled the handkerchief off of my neck, trying not to cringe when I thought of how Crystal had used it, as now it was needed for a much more serious reason. I tied the blue bandana around my thigh, but I knew it wasn't gonna completely stop the bleeding. My chest, now that needed something bigger. I turned a full circle and found my discarded shirt. That would do. I pressed it against the blood flow and then with nothing else to aid me, I stepped forward.

It hurt to move, but in a way, where it most counted, it woulda hurt worse to not do a thing. Their tracks weren't hard to find, as they never woulda figured on me coming after them, but my pace was so slow, it seemed like the tracks never shifted scenery beneath me. I couldn't step without a hard limp, and after awhile, when I could no longer pick the foot up off the ground anymore, I started dragging my leg behind me. But I wasn't gonna quit. I might shake, I might weaken, but I knew I had to carry on, yet it was getting harder to do so.

I dunno when my downward spiral started to happen, but I got to its completion mighty quick. My left foot was on the ground, I was upright, but when I tried to take the next step, I was on the ground. Flat. The pain was at a level where I couldn't even grit my teeth through it. The reality of my fate brought a new surge of anger coursing through my body, but this time, it wasn't gonna be enough. I wasn't gonna make it. I failed. I failed Crystal, I failed Traveler, I failed Slim and Andy, and I failed myself. Dad-gum, why did it have to hurt so much? I woulda never been able to explain if I was questioning the failure or the bullet's ugly mark.

I didn't wanna give up. But I couldn't get up. I'd done all that I could do, and now I was gonna die. I thought first of Slim, but then that tender spot in my flesh brought Andy's face to mind. He told me he cried when he thought Whit Malone had killed me. It kinda made that pain in my chest take on a different feeling, knowing those tears would get repeated, only this time, be for real. I couldn't help but wonder if there'd be some other tears shed, too. I didn't wanna make anyone grieve, but that comes naturally when one heart cares for another.

I never thought my death would have any meaning. What with the way I lived out my latter teen years and into my early twenties, getting into a different scrape nearly every day and fighting my way outta it with a gun, I never figured I'd see myself age too far. I always figured that when I did die, no one would mourn the loss, although it wouldn't surprise me if a few no-goods out there woulda chosen to celebrate the occasion. I didn't have any family left, leastwise that I knew of, so there wasn't anyone that would really care that Jess Harper was gone. But those were thoughts that only existed in my past. That was all before I'd found a home where someone did care.

I was all alone in the middle of the wilderness of Wyoming Territory, however many miles between Casper and Laramie. Slim. Andy. Jonesy. They'd never know where I'd fallen. I didn't even know how far I'd come, or where I even was, because time refused to exist when that much pain stole all my forward thoughts. Once my absence would become too long to dismiss, because of my time in jail, Slim could trail me from Brackett, but it was only a chance that he'd come this way. I'd get no grave, no stone, only the part of the earth where I lay.

I barely had the strength to roll onto my back. Gone was the shirt that had been pressed into my wound and my hand crawled across my middle until I reached the bloody bullet hole. I placed my palm over the wound, feeling my heart rate grow slower as each of my breaths became weaker. I was gonna die. Alone. An anguished cry formed in my throat. I wasn't sure if it came out or not, but it was an expression of suffering that didn't come from no gunshot wound. I couldn't even say goodbye. Dad-gum, Slim, Andy, I didn't know it was gonna be so hard.

A sharp pain tore through my body and as I reacted with a gasp, my body trying to recoil from its intensity, I tried to pull another breath of air in, but it only resulted in a sputtered wheeze. I could feel my life losing the battle that I'd waged so hard to win. Everything was fading, my vision, my hearing, my feeling. And then there was no more pain. This was it. I closed my eyes, not knowing what was gonna follow.

…

There was light in my face, bright, shiny, yellow and right over my head. My eyes weren't seeing none too clearly, but there was no doubt about the light. Someone was there, behind the light, but I couldn't make out any features. My head felt strange, as if I was stuck in a cloud. Maybe I was. And if that was so, did that mean I was in…? I dunno. I couldn't feel any pain, and that doggone light wasn't just glaring in my eyes, but somehow filled my whole being. I reached a hand toward the light and it moved, revealing the one behind it. It was a woman with long silver hair that musta reached her waistline. Dad-gum.

My voice came out in a whispered breath. "Are you an angel?"

"An angel?" The returned question was unmistakably marked and the following cackle turned into an uproar, complete with hand slapping on a thigh and tears streaking down a wrinkled face. "Sonny, does an angel drink whiskey, chew tobbaccy" —she spit in a nearby bucket for emphasis— "curse up a storm or shoot just for the heck of it?"

"I…I reckon n-not," I ain't usually one to stutter, but that's how it came out. I was focusing much clearer as the fog around my brain wasn't as thick, but even with my visuals improving, it didn't aid my confusion. If she ain't an angel, then what was she? If I wasn't in heaven, then I must be in…

"Oh, come on now," the woman set the lantern she was holding onto a table. "Don't look at me like that. I ain't one of the devil's henchmen either. I'm from the earth, livin' and breathin', jist like you. Well, mebbe not quite. I rattle some when I take a deep breath. Side effect from the tobbaccy, you know."

"Where am I?" Now that the light wasn't directly in my eyes anymore I was able to see my surroundings better, but they weren't much to look at. I was on a cot in the corner of a small room and other than the short, square table beside me, the remainder of the room had only a rocking chair and a couple of buckets in it.

"You're in a hill, about sixteen, seventeen miles from Casper."

"In a hill?" I asked, eyes widening as I began to discover that, yes, the walls and ceiling of the room were made of dirt.

"My cabin burnt to the ground coupla years back," she pointed with a finger to an unknown location. "All that was left was this here dugout cellar, so instead of movin' t'town, which I wouldn't've done even if someone'd paid me, I took t'livin' here. 'Tain't bad, iffen you don't mind a few bugs crawlin' by now'n then."

"How'd I get here?"

"I stumbled acrosst your carcass down by the river whilst I was fetchin' some water. Good thing I've still got some muscles in these sixty-four-year-old arms'a mine. Drug you right on up the slope and hoisted you in t'bed."

"Thanks," I said, bringing a smile to my lips. "My name's Jess Harper."

"Roberta Kaye," she thrust a weathered hand into mine, her grip as tight as some men I've met. "'Though nobody's called me by my given handle since I was in pigtails. Bobby Kaye all the way."

"Bobby," I acknowledged with a deeper smile. The short version suited her better.

"You thirsty?" She asked, reaching for one of the buckets on the floor, one I was glad to note wasn't the one that she'd sent a stream into earlier.

"Some," I tried sitting up, but quickly learned that trying to move was a mistake. The pain was coming back and it soon tore through my chest as if I'd been shot all over again. That penetrated my mind a little harder than anything else that I'd thought of since waking and my hand searched my chest for the wound. It was covered up, tight, with a bandage. My head raised, as my body hadn't done a good job of responding to going upright, and sought Bobby with my eyes. "You dig the bullet outta me?"

"Yeah," Bobby reached inside of her pocket and pulled out a bullet. "Rifle slug. Deep, too. Didn't think I was gonna be able t'reach it, but I did."

"Mr. Mustache," I nodded, dropping my head back onto the pillow. He'd been the only one carrying a rifle. The rest of those hyenas carried six-guns.

"Someone you know shoot you?" Bobby asked, but after I started to shake my head in a declining gesture, she piped in, "you was hit twice, you know. The leg jist had a chunk tore out. Scoured it clean and then bandaged it up."

"I remember dragging it when it didn't wanna work anymore," I answered, as if suddenly remembering made my leg wound start to throb. "But no, nobody I know. They were bank robbers outta Brackett. I unfortunately rode right into them."

"You rode?" Bobby arched her brows. "You looked like you'd been afoot for a spell."

"I reckon I was," I said, visualizing the moment right before I was shot all over again. "They took off with my irons and mount." And Crystal.

"Well, you must've got a heap'a power coursin' through them veins'a yours t'plow your way this far. Don't want it t'all drain away now that you're here. You think you could eat?"

"Maybe," I said, but the puzzlement was in my voice. I'd already got a decent look at the dirt walled room I was in, and there wasn't a cooking stove in sight.

"I do my cookin' outside," Bobby motioned with her thumb. "Come winter I drag the potbellied stove in here, let the smoke trail outta hole in the roof, but for now it takes up too much room and 'sides, who needs to heat up a hill when it's pushin' ninety out there? I'll go get you some grub."

Bobby left through a blanket doorway and I caught a glimpse of daylight before it fell back in place. I couldn't tell the time of day, but if she said it was ninety, it musta been the heart of the afternoon, although I wondered if her comment on the outdoor temperature was an exaggeration. Now that she wasn't in the room, I did another attempt to pull my body in a sitting position, and even though I didn't do so without a couple of groans and a half-wheezed "Dad-gum," I reached my goal. I'd been covered by a patchwork quilt that looked like it had one time been at least ten different pairs of clothing, but now that I was sitting, it didn't wanna stay up. Not feeling a shiver in my body, I let the quilt slide down my middle, which revealed my bare skin, with the exception of the bandage that covered the bullet hole.

That didn't surprise me, for it woulda been a lot easier to cut into a man's chest without a shirt in the way, but knowing that Bobby would soon be back, I started searching the meager room for my blue, button-up shirt. Leaning slightly off the bunk, I saw my boots pushed against the wall, with my hat perched over the top of the one nearest me, my chaps and vest set next to the one farthest me, and then I noticed, folded neatly in a pile on the floor were my clothes. All of them. I raised that quilt up mighty fast, looking down below and I knew my face musta taken on a crimson hue. I was naked.

She did say she'd scoured my leg clean. Dad-gum. I started to reach for my long johns when I heard her footsteps touch the edge of the hill. Pulling the blanket nearly up to my neck, I watched her enter, and for a moment I lost all thought of embarrassment as my nose was assaulted with a strong odor. There was something steaming in the center of a plate, but what I couldn't tell. It looked like a greasy pile of mush or meat, or maybe that was it, mashed meat mixed with more mush. Whatever it was, if there had been an appetite knocking on my ribcage, it was instantly lost.

"Here you go, Boy. Fresh caught this morning." Bobby thrust the plate toward my face and I couldn't help but turn my head away as my mouth felt like it was gonna gag. "What's the matter? Don't cotton t'opossum?"

"Not usually," I shivered, clutching the blanket up as high as it could go to my neck, but wishing I could press it over my nose. "I reckon I'd just rather have some water."

"Whiskey might do better," Bobby reached a hand under my bunk and pulled out a large jug. "Wanna swig?"

"I'll just stick with water, thanks."

"Suit yourself," Bobby tipped the jug up to her lips and must've spent five long seconds downing the contents. "But you ain't gonna get on your feet turnin' down eatin' or drinkin'."

"I'll take my chances," I said as she shoved the jug back to its position under the bunk. Bobby mercifully took the plate of opossum back outside and I quivered at the thought of putting a fork of that mess to my lips. All I could see other than its cooked form was a light gray, long-nosed with an even longer tailed creature with a set of sharp, uneven teeth as it snarled at me. Dad-gum, I ain't never likely gonna complain about Jonesy's cooking again.

While she was absent, I couldn't find the gumption to reach for my pants, lest she made a prompt return, so I kept myself covered, listening for her every movement. Bobby came back a few minutes later, wiping her mouth on the sleeve of her faded calico dress, so pale that I barely could tell that there'd once been a pattern on it. She was kinda medium in shape, more height than girth, as we woulda nearly been eye to eye if we woulda been standing close to one another. I didn't know if she'd polished up the opossum that I'd rejected or not, and I wasn't about to ask, when she pulled the rocking chair next to my bunk.

"So where're you from, Boy?"

"I work on a ranch, just outside of Laramie," I answered, and couldn't help but think of Slim, Andy and Jonesy, the strange feeling of homesickness nudging out the opossum nausea.

"Hard work, ranch life?"

"Yeah," I nodded, "you get used to it, though."

"I've always worked hard," Bobby folded her hands together on her lap, ones that I could see attested to that fact. "Started out in a family with ten siblings, 'though a few'a 'em died 'fore I grew t'size. Pappy couldn't make enough raisin' corn, so most'a us shucked out young. I worked in a minin' camp for awhile, warshin' clothes. Tried lookin' for gold myself, but that didn't amount to nothin'. Nowadays I earn my keep whilst huntin' and trappin'. You should see the mess of furs I get piled up here come Christmastime."

"How did you learn to dig for bullets?"

"Minin' camp," Bobby explained. "Always someone shootin' someone there. Doc's were never plentiful, so us womenfolk hadta make do."

"Well I'm much obliged for you patching me up," I rested my hand on my chest wound. "I woulda died without your help."

"Ain't no need for thanks, Boy," Bobby beamed, the wrinkles on her face disappearing with the glow. "I'm mighty glad t'be the help you needed. Now, I've kept you talkin' long 'nough. You jist rest, Boy," Bobby patted my hand as I leaned my head backward. "I'll check on you in a bit."

I didn't know I'd slept until the blanket was lifted and a shaft of light spilled over my face. I blinked my eyes and then rubbed one of them before fully coming back to my senses. Bobby was by the doorway holding something, but now that the light was gone, my eyes had to readjust to the dimness of the earthen room before I could see what she was holding. I didn't think I needed to know anyhow, just as long as it wasn't that blamed opossum again.

"Since you're sorta peculiar –" I kinda figured that Bobby meant particular, but I reckon she coulda been right either way, "—I went down to the crick and caught a coupla fishes. Hope you ain't opposed t'them."

Bobby handed me a plate of cooked fish, a little charred on one side, but definitely downright appealing. "Mmm," I breathed in the aroma, and just as I was figuring to dig in with nothing but my fingers, she produced a three-pronged fork and a dull enough knife that wouldn't have sliced a pat of butter. I almost went with my fingers, but since she was watching me, I dove in with the fork. To say I devoured it was an understatement, and since I reckoned Bobby was a might pleased with my pleasure, she offered to run right back to the crick and get me another. I declined. Letting my belly feel full woulda been nice, but being tired was outweighing anything else, even if I had just aroused from a nap an hour before.

Getting shot sure takes a heap of resting. I leaned my head back against the dirt wall, the feel of the hard-packed soil felt cool and my eyes soon drifted shut. I dunno how long I was out, but I awoke feeling stronger than when I'd drifted off. The lamp still burned on the table next to the bunk, but was at a much softer glow. I couldn't tell if it was still day or night, for the blanket cloaked doorway didn't give me any indication, but by the soft snore coming from somewhere, I figured it was deep into the night. I searched for the sound and found Bobby stretched out on the floor, with only a threadbare blanket as her cover near the doorway. Of course I was in the only bed in the house, what with me recovering from two gunshot wounds, but it still felt wrong to allow a woman to be sleeping on the floor.

I shifted my body on the bunk, trying not to groan from the pain that jolted in both my leg and my chest and tucked the quilt around me tighter. Sure felt cool inside of the hill, which gave me an even clearer idea that it must've been nighttime, but with that same thought, I was also grateful that I didn't feel hot with fever. Before the fish had been served, while we were talking, I'd filled my empty self with water, which at the time flowed down my throat like a murmuring stream, but now I started to regret it. I had a necessary need to get outdoors. And I hadn't yet had the chance to clothe myself, for all the short time I'd been awake Bobby had been in the room.

I had to make a choice. Go for my pants, or go for the door. I leaned my upper half over the edge of the bunk to view my stack of clothes, which the jeans had the unfortunate position of being on the bottom. The long johns were in the middle, between my shirt and the aforementioned pants, and if anything was gonna get grabbed first, it'd be them, but I didn't know if I could jump into them fast enough, what with my leg having a decent slice taken outta its thigh. I took a deep breath and dropped my feet to the floor, my choice made. I was gonna make the dash. At least I had a quilt to wrap around my bare body. I tucked the covering tight and tiptoed across the earthen floor, listening to Bobby's ongoing snore, hoping with each snort that she was a deep sleeper. I'd barely lifted the blanket when I discovered she wasn't.

"What do you think you're doing outta bed?" Bobby's voice sounded shrill, and getting caught almost made me shriek.

"Well if you can't figure it out," I said with my teeth gritted tight, "then I ain't gonna tell."

"Oh," she said simply, but there was a wide grin on her face.

It was dark outside, pitch black, perfect for hiding an indecent man. If I hadn't been hurting, I probably woulda stayed out longer, but my leg hadn't taken any weight in a few days, so once I was finished with my business behind a tree, I retreated back into the hillside. I didn't turn my eyes in Bobby's direction when I entered, so I had no idea if she was or wasn't looking my way, but I coulda swore I felt eyes boring into my quilt-covered back. I crawled back into the bunk and no sooner than I let the covering fall into place, I had a low growl form in my throat. While I'd been up, I shoulda grabbed my pants! If I coulda kicked myself, I woulda.

I laid awake for awhile with a scowl on my face but soon my body's injury induced weakness took effect. Drowsiness settled my temper low enough that once my eyelashes touched my skin, I found the depths of sleep. By the time I was awake, there wasn't any doubt that morning had arrived for I could hear birds singing and the blanket doorway was slightly ajar, letting a golden ray of light seep into my dark corner of earth. It also lit up the room enough that I could clearly see that I was alone. Finally I could get my pants on.

I threw the quilt off me and nearly jumped outta bed, but when my hand reached down to grab my clothes, it literally froze in place. My whole body did, actually. My pants were gone! Everything was gone. Of all the blamed things! The shirt, the long johns, the jeans, socks, everything! I slowly straightened my body in an upright position, my heart thumping each beat with a new thrum of fury. I balled both hands into fists, but it was my left one that was closest to anything, which was a dirt wall, and I inserted some frustration in a couple of hard whacks against the brown earth. The next thing I knew, some of the ceiling crumbled down on top of my head. My hands rose to rub the loose soil outta my already dirty locks when I heard a whistled tune quickly approach the blanket door. If only my gun draw could be as fast as the way I jumped back in the bunk, then I'd never, ever have a worry about my competition besting me.

"You look bright-eyed this mornin'," Bobby cheerfully said upon entering, although she didn't know the blue sparks coming from my eyes weren't from getting a good-night's sleep. "How're you feelin'?"

"Better," I said, trying to keep my voice straight and not let it rise with my irritation. "I'd kinda like to get up and move around some. But I can't seem to find my pants."

"Oh," Bobby's face split into a grin and for a moment, she didn't look sixty-whatever-she'd-said. "I got up early to warsh your clothes. You wouldn't wanna put 'em on all bloodied and gross would you? Already'd been too long with the blood stains settin' in, but I got 'em out with some mighty fine scrubbin'. Good thing I got plenty a'experience. They'll be dry in a coupla hours."

"Thanks," I said dryly, but at least it didn't come out as a whine. Now what was I gonna do for a couple of hours?

"You could use a good cleanin' yourself," Bobby pointed to the dirty sheen of my hair. "Wanna go down to the crick for a dip?"

"No, ma'am," I said all too abruptly.

"If you're not up t'walkin', I could bring a bucket'a water and soap in."

"No, ma'am," my repeat was even more rushed.

"That's up t'you," Bobby shrugged. "Would think a body'd rather get a layer of grime off. Especially on someone that cuts such a nice figure as you do. You're rather nice t'look at, you know."

I couldn't stop the wince. Dad-gum. And unfortunately she'd already gotten the full, full look of me. How could a woman forty years older than me make my cheeks grow pink? "Maybe later," I said, looking anywhere but in her direction.

"Got some taters fryin' out there," Bobby said with a smirk. "I woulda thrown in some slices a'opossum, but by the way you reacted yesterday, I figured I'd best not. Where'd you ever learnt t'eat?"

"Texas," I said proudly, "where a body's practically raised on beefsteak as soon as the first tooth comes in."

"Shoulda known by your drawl," Bobby nodded and then turned a finger toward her middle. "Me, I've spent my whole life in these mountains or ones jist like 'em. Wouldn't have it any other way. Lots'a food for the takin' up here, opossum, bear, weasels, but I ain't never seen no cows runnin' 'round. The only thing I don't shoot at are skunks. Do you shoot?"

"Yeah," I answered, looking down at my right hand. It certainly felt empty not being able to hold a gun like I was normally used to. I bet I usually pull it outta the holster at least twice a day. All right, probably more.

"Kinda figured you did. You got that look about you."

There she went again, reminding me of my looks. Every dad-gum part of them. I dropped my eyes back to the quilt over me, lest my cheeks started flaming again. I think she liked making me feel uncomfortable. She was quiet for a spell, maybe to keep me stewing in my embarrassment, but when I lifted my gaze again, she wasn't looking at me like she'd been making fun, but something far different. I honestly don't know how to describe what I saw.

"You gotta girl waitin' for you?"

"Nope," I shook my head. Although that wasn't quite true. I had Crystal. But since she'd been taken by a group of rotten animals, I likely didn't have her either. I didn't wanna think what they might've done to her, but if I ever caught up to them, and I certainly planned to, I'd let them taste some of their own medicine.

"I had me a man, once," Bobby's voice took on a softer tone. "He died in a blizzard, a long, long time ago. Could never bring myself t'look for another man again. Then when I meet one, it's way too late." Bobby tugged on a corner of her silver hair and then with a strange look in my direction, she promptly exited.

I stared after her for a minute, listening to the sound of her dishing up the potatoes. She musta been kinda lonely, all these years spent alone in the wilderness trapping, until I showed up. Knowing what it was like spending years without anyone to share ups and downs with or any other type of feeling, I began to understand her situation a whole lot clearer. And her apparent attraction for me. I reckon a person could get old feelings to stir around in their core when someone unexpectedly disturbed their life, no matter the age gap. I felt nothing but appreciation for her, but the annoyance began to fade away. Even more so after I polished off the plate of potatoes she brought me, because with the sizzling dish, came my clothes.

Standing upright, fully clothed, breathing in the air that could only come from the high country, made me feel better. I couldn't say I was back to normal, not even by a long shot, but not laying in a heap, afraid to rustle the quilt layer, I was in a far better condition. I didn't tell Bobby, but both wounds still had some pain in it. They likely would start to throb further when I moved on. I'd been housebound, or hill-bound, for too long. I had to get back to the trail. I stared up into the hills beyond Bobby's home, wondering where that trail would be.

"Do you know anywhere in these parts that a bunch of outlaws might hold up for a spell?" I asked when I heard Bobby approach me.

"There's a few scattered homesteads," Bobby trailed her finger through the air from left to right. "But mostly it's rather vacant up here. There's a miner's cabin five or so miles north'a here, kinda hidden at his claim near the mouth of the river. He's been dead more'n a year, so I dunno iffen it's still standin' or not."

"That sounds like a good place to start," I said, my hand reaching for the bandage alongside my thigh where my gun shoulda been.

"You have to go after 'em, don't you?"

"I do," my nod was resolute.

"You know you're not fully healed up," Bobby crossed her arms over her chest and gave me a steely glare.

"I didn't say anything about still hurting," I quickly flicked my eyes in her direction.

"You didn't have t'say so. I can jist tell by the way you move."

"It ain't too bad," I didn't really think I was lying. I've been in rougher scrapes. "I gotta get going before the trail's too cold to follow."

"Afoot?"

"That's all I have," I said, taking a step toward Bobby as I wore one of my gapped-tooth showing smiles, "but I can walk forward, thanks to your fine mending."

"Well, you can't go like that," Bobby said and then with a firm step, retreated back into the hill. I thought she wasn't gonna return and I almost started to leave, when the blanket lifted and Bobby walked back in my direction. She was holding a six-gun.

"Bobby?" I questioned, as she slapped the pistol in my hand.

"Take it."

"But I can't take your gun, I…" this time I didn't feel my blood boil when I was interrupted. I actually smiled.

"Don't fret none about me," Bobby shook her head back and forth, "I've got plenty'a fire-arms 'round. I'll make do 'til I can get another six-shooter."

"Thanks," I said, dropping the gun inside my empty holster. "With this by my side I feel a whole lot more complete going after them no-goods who downed me."

"Be careful, Jess," Bobby said softly, and I realized that was the first time she'd said my name. "You'll prolly never come back, but do know, that I'll never forget you."

"Thank you, Bobby," I said sincerely as I put my hands on her shoulders, "for saving my life and tending to me like you did. I'll never forget you either." Then I kissed her cheek.

"You better get outta here before I get misty-eyed, and shoot you for makin' me blubber like a foolish school girl."

"Goodbye," I said, and with an eye for a northern ridge, I started walking. I kinda waited a moment to hear a returned farewell, so my steps were slow, but it never came. Before I hit a couple of trees that would block my view of her hill, I turned my head, but she was gone. She was probably right, I would never see her again, but I hoped that was because my path wouldn't wind up in that direction again, and not that I'd meet another bullet when I caught up to the ones I was after.

Once I found the place where Bobby' had picked me up, I went closer to the river bank searching for tracks. Although a few days old, without rain to wash them into the mud, I could still see their route. They'd crossed. I looked across the water, gauging its depth, and if the way the water swirled in the center was any indication, I figured it'd be somewhere near my waist. If I wanted to keep the bandage around my leg in place, I knew I couldn't just plunge in. Keeping close to the edge of the water, I walked forward, ever searching for a proper passageway to meet up with the outlaw's trail on the other side. Around a bend I found it, but it'd have to take a steady stride to do it. A tree, wide enough for a foot, but narrow enough to make an injured man nervous, lay fallen across the river.

With determination etched into my being, I approached the log and took the first step. I wasn't wobbly, that was good, but I'd led with my uninjured leg. I pulled my right up to be an equal level with my left, and, so far, so good, there wasn't a problem. I pressed forward, keeping my eyes on my feet as they traversed, trying not to focus on the rushing water that was underneath me. I've taken a tumble into a swiftly moving current before, and I didn't really like the thought of doing it again, especially when I knew there wasn't anyone around to pull me out. Once I got to the middle, the tree took on an incline, as the opposite bank was higher than where I'd started, and it was also here, where the largest rocks lay in the river below. I took it slower, although I wished I coulda just sprinted the rest of the way to get it behind me. As my feet began to climb, the tree began to shake, and dad-gum, if I wasn't doing the same.

There I was, stopped in the middle of a tree bridge, feeling like I was gonna fall if I took one more step. I knew I had to take it and all the ones that followed until I reached the other side. I would never turn back, no matter what was ahead of me, or for that matter, what lay below me. I took a deep breath, which cleared my head enough that the drop didn't look so intimidating and inched my foot forward. The tree quivered, but it didn't bend, and neither did I. Once I found their trail again, I stayed strong and steady in their tracks.

The walk to the cabin didn't feel as long as the miles that I had spanned, because it was a pace driven by purpose. I had almost been killed, but it wasn't just their bullets that had tattooed my flesh that sent me forward. Yeah, I won't lie, I wanted revenge for dropping me and leaving me to die, but they had something of mine that I wanted back. And if they'd done the same to Crystal, then dad-gum, that vengeful need would intensify.

The cabin was dilapidated, but it obviously wasn't so far gone that it turned away intruders. I could see by the trodden down grass to the shack's only door that it had recently been in use. Maybe it still was, although from the way my eyes were surveying back and forth, I didn't see any sign of life anywhere. Unless there was a horse, or a group of them, staked out in a distance, my invitation musta come late. But I wouldn't take any chances. The gun was soon fitted securely in my hand and I set my steps quietly in the same path that led to the doorway. Footprints didn't imbed into grass, so there was no way I could tell if the last person that had used it entered or exited, but I was ready for a room full of bank robbers if they were there.

I put a swift kick to the door and it slapped open, hitting the inside of the room with a bang. I ignored the moisture I felt seep through the bandage on my thigh, keeping my legs firmly planted to a creaky floorboard as my gun traced the entire length of the room. It was empty. Despite the vacancy, my gun wasn't holstered, and I began to walk slowly through the ramshackle cabin. There was plenty of evidence that it'd been home to a group of men, prints in the dust, both hand and foot, fresh whiskey bottles, a bean pot on the stove with its contents in a cold lump at the bottom, and a discarded blanket that didn't have a dozen moth holes in it. But even with what I'd viewed, I didn't know if the visitors were the ones I was after. Yet.

I wanted more evidence before I searched for a visible or hidden trail beyond the cabin's walls. Maybe they'd left a more telling sign, like using something from the bank to start a fire. I opened the stove to find only a charred piece of wood, and so many ashes that I had to fight off a sneeze. I used the tip of my boot to open a cobweb laden cupboard and when a spider, angry to be so rudely disrupted, was about to jump out the door, I slammed it shut. The entire length of cupboards that spanned the meager kitchen shuddered. And then something small shuffled along the floor. Mouse? I put a direct aim on the creature with my pistol and then I gasped.

"Crystal!"

She couldn't tear herself away from me fast enough, and she probably woulda plumb escaped through the now broken doorway, but her movements were severely hindered. There was a glove tied around her middle, enclosing her hind legs inside its palm. I reached my hand out to her and she promptly hissed, the growl that followed meant that she'd do more than that if I touched her. If I wasn't trying to be gentle, I woulda snapped. An explosion of anger at the men that did this to her would have to wait. Now all that mattered was gentling my baby.

"Easy now, little darling," I said, my voice as tender as I could turn that Texas drawl of mine. "You remember me. Come on, now, I ain't gonna hurt you."

Crystal hesitated, the fear in her blue eyes as easy to see as the dust on the floor. I went down to both knees, feeling the wound on my thigh threatening to pull apart as I did so, but my wounds were petty, only on the outside. This little girl was bleeding, too, just not so that anyone could see the stain. I slowly put two fingers toward her head and in a flash of white, she struck me, her claw making a trail of red dots across my skin.

"Crystal," I lowered myself even further, cringing as she cowered in a corner. "Honey, you're all right now. I'm gonna take care of you." She hissed, but the growl didn't follow. "Shhh. Papa's right here." Who woulda thought I'd ever hang that name on myself? Strange to admit, but I kinda liked the title.

The frightened eyes blinked, and when they came back open, the wide, frantic hue wasn't as dark. I reached my hand out and instead of recoiling, her pink nose inched forward and sniffed. I traced a finger close to her cheek, but didn't touch fur until I met the backside of her ear. When the head turned into my palm, my other hand latched onto her body. Crystal fought for a moment, but once her body touched my chest, I felt her tension ease. Murmuring into her ear, I slid my hand down her back and pulled the glove off of her, freeing her of its confinement. Feeling its relief, Crystal scurried farther up my chest until she reached my neck and snuggling into my embrace, there began her inner roar. She purred.

I don't cry. Let's just put that in stone. So whatever I felt smarting in the corners of my eyes musta been something undefined. But the smile that couldn't stop spreading across my face wasn't a mystery, it was dad-gummed genuine. I felt the moist nose searching along my throat until she found what she was looking for and it didn't take long before my bandana was imitating a milk feeder again. I only wished I had the real thing to give her. I didn't have anything at all. But I had her.

"I'm gonna get them for doing this to you," I said when she'd had her "fill". I gently pulled Crystal away from my neck and slid her into my vest pocket where the reverberating of her purr melted against my heart. If that promise was gonna get fulfilled, I had to find their trail. And I woulda laid everything I owned on a poker table that I was gonna catch up to them too. No one harms someone that's important to me— family, friend or feline, and gets away with it. No one.

They couldn't have left but that morning, maybe as close to noontime for once I found where they'd stashed the horses, their tracks were easy to see. I counted five, which told me plain that they still had Traveler. I had been a little concerned that they'd sell my mount, as no outlaw could resist more money in their pockets, even if what overflowed in them now had been supplied by a bank's vault.

I set out. Bobby said there weren't many homesteads in the area, and I believed it. From the time I'd left Brackett, met up with the team of outlaws, and wound up at Bobby's place, the ramshackle cabin that was being swallowed up with brush behind me was the only building I'd seen. I kinda figured that Hairy Leader and his bunch had already known where to find shelter for a couple of nights, so since they likely weren't strangers to the area, they'd probably dodge the homesteads. Their trail pointed east and for the most part, it was easy to traverse. The deeper the day wore on, as the terrain changed, I no longer could see any tracks in the rockier portion of earth. I had to guess their route.

I chose to keep going eastward, even though in various places they coulda gone in any direction. What with having some experience on the run, I understood an outlaw's mind. They would probably want to make camp in an hour or two, maybe even sooner if they didn't stop to rest earlier in the day, and I figured they'd be searching for a campsite. Even if wanted men didn't expect company, they would never take chances by being out in the open. Higher and rockier was my aim, and my steps grew quicker in anticipation.

I have pretty good hearing. With the exception of some soft-footed bounty hunters sneaking up behind me, I don't miss much. Couple that with a sharp intuition from years of outlaw know-how, I figured the men that I was after was camped out just ahead of me. It was getting dark, but knowing that the stars were gonna start becoming visible soon wasn't gonna stop me from pursuing. I wanted them, and each of their sorry hides were gonna know it, too. I crept forward, keeping my steps as silently placed as an Indian's until I reached the outer edge of their camp. There they were, all of them. They'd picked a good spot. Plenty of cover, but that was just as much as in my advantage as theirs. I inched closer until I could hear one of them breathing and set myself behind a boulder.

Hairy Leader lay with his back against a log, his long hair falling down over his neck and shoulders completely blocking me from his vision. Perfect. Mr. Mustache was stirring a pot that smelled like beans, and the rifle that took me down was propped against a rock, beyond an arm's length away. Better still. Tall'n'Thin was asleep, or at least it sounded like he was, for something that mimicked a snore was coming outta his mouth. Nice. Fight-Man was the one on guard, but all I had to do was wait until his steps took him back by the horses. And I was ready, well, almost.

Crystal couldn't stay in my pocket anymore. A gun battle could be coming, and since I didn't expect all four outlaws to surrender to one man, I couldn't risk a bullet striking her. I might go down again, but Crystal needed a chance to live. I slid my hand along the rock that hid me, looking for a break in the stone and soon found a crevice, large enough for my fist to have ample room to move in. I took her outta my vest pocket and with a glance to make sure Fight-man wasn't pointing my way, I dropped Crystal into the crevice, and then slid my arms outta the vest and set it over the top of the rocky hole. She wouldn't like it, but at least I knew she'd be safe. That is, as long as I came out on top.

With my attention fully back on the camp, I clutched the gun in my hand, watching for the right opportunity to come. Mr. Mustache was taste-testing and Hairy Leader looked to be close to the same state as Tall'n'Thin was in, so now, all I needed was Fight-man to take two more steps away from me and then I could jump. One. Two. Now.

"Nobody make a move!" My voice and the hammer echoed at the same time. Hairy Leader propped farther up on the log, Mr. Mustache's hand was stopped mid-bite, Tall'n'Thin didn't arouse, and Fight-man stared me down, cold, yet somehow alive with fire. He was the real deal, all right, but I wasn't gonna waver. I returned his stare, putting even more intensity in the gaze as I was receiving. I was the real deal, too. "Put down your guns. Now!"

"You should be dead," Fight-man's voice hardened on his final word.

"You will be if you don't drop your gun," I said just as firmly, my voice deepening in tone as I ground out a repeated command. "Drop it."

I saw him fake it, and when the gun quickly came back up, I fired. His bullet found dirt, but mine drove deep into flesh. There was no time to turn on the other three unless I wanted a repeat with my brush of death, so I dove behind the rock as a pair of bullets whizzed past my head, one close enough that it made my hat tip back. Rifle fire rapidly spewed bits of rock around me, so I knew Mr. Mustache had reached his preferred iron. Two other handguns were springing bullets at me, but with the ricochets bouncing in all directions I couldn't tell if their aims had any precision.

I exposed myself; one to get a look at the three men's positions and two, to get a feel for their accuracy. Dad-gum, they all could shoot. One bullet tore a corner of my sleeve, the rifle spewed dirt at my foot and the other wasn't far from my gun hand. It was a good thing I had a fine art in accuracy myself. I tossed a string of bullets back in each man's direction, only able to dart back for cover before I took one myself. The gunshots were rapid and too close on all sides. Someone else mighta fled, but I ain't one to back down. In fact, a situation like this only made me wanna fight harder. My next trio of shots declared that louder than my saying so, and one of them made contact.

"Jaffe," a sharp voice called, "get around back of him!"

I wondered which one that was. But whoever he was, I wasn't gonna let him sneak too close. I heard the incoming steps and flattened my frame against the rock, ready to fire at the slightest movement in front of me. But then I heard something else too. Horses. A shout. Gunfire. Dad-gum, there was someone out there on my side. Instead of continuing forward to my position, the man sneaking up on me started to flee and I pursued. The brush parted and I saw that Jaffe was Mr. Mustache, and I let a bullet bounce at his feet. He shuffled to a stop and turned to look at me, but instead of aiming his rifle at my chest, he held it out away from his body.

"Come on," I said through my tightly clenched jaw, "back to the camp."

The gunfire had quit. That meant that there was either surrender or death. I kept Jaffe, or since the name I'd given him seemed to have stuck in place, Mr. Mustache, on a steady pace to find out. I would never let my guard down, but once I rounded the last corner, I did relax a bit. Even in the increasingly dusky light, I'd recognize that extra large build anywhere.

"Sheriff Smith," I acknowledged, nudging Mr. Mustache in the lawman's direction. "I'm surprised to see you out here. These are your bank robbers, by the way, or what's left of them." Hairy Leader was still whole, but Tall'n'Thin was lying still from where my bullet had hit him. Yeah, I know, killing a man who I wanted to see pay doesn't really make me feel better. In fact, it's just the opposite. Vengeance might get carried out, and in this case, rightfully so, but the only thing that might fill the void of revenge is remorse.

"Yes, I figured as much," Sheriff Smith nodded, assessing the two dead men as I was. "You were right that I should've been out looking for them and not in town. The day after you left I got a wire from a man by the name of Wheeler, who said he saw a group of men heading in the direction of old Vinny's shack. I was on my up there when I heard the shots."

"I reckon I'm glad you did. For awhile, they were kinda hard to handle." I looked over my shoulder when I heard a familiar tone and saw my vest moving on the rock. "Excuse me for a minute."

I don't think Sheriff Smith paid any attention to me as he was too busy slapping handcuffs on Hairy Leader and Mr. Mustache to know what I was doing. I only had to give a few comforting rubs to Crystal before she snuggled back into my chest. Once she'd been given a thorough cuddle, I put her back in my pocket, whispered for her to, "stay put," and then returned to where the Sheriff readied the prisoners to return to Brackett. The money-filled saddlebags were draped over the sheriff's arm, and as I approached, he started unbuckling the one closest to him.

"The whole town of Brackett owes you a heap of thanks. I'd like to give you a reward," he said, but I put up my hand.

"The only reward I wanted was personal," I touched the corner of my vest. "And I got it in full."

"All right, Harper," Sheriff Smith nodded and closed the saddlebag up tight.

"I hope you ain't gonna get offended, Sheriff," I said, trying not to look directly at the man's oversized middle, "but it sure don't look like you spend your time in the diner, what with the kinda chicken they serve. What's your secret to, uh, your indulgence?"

"Oh, no secret, Harper," Sheriff Smith put a hand on his stomach as it moved back and forth with a short laugh. "My wife's the best cook there is. She hardly ever steps foot out of the kitchen, which means I don't get far from the dining room!"

"I see," I said, rubbing the back of my neck as I approached my request. "I don't suppose you've got anything of hers with you that you'd be willing to share?"

"Well," Sheriff Smith raised his brows, glancing over his shoulder at his waiting horse. "I do have a roast beef sandwich left. But since I've got a decent stretch to ride back, I can only offer half."

"Great," I nodded, feeling my mouth start to water at the thought of real food, "I'll take it."

Once the sizable sandwich was properly halved, I stuffed a large corner of it in my mouth, and dad-gum, Sheriff Smith had a reason to be his size. It was good, and that wasn't just a man saying so that'd been fed raw chicken and overripe opossum the last few days either. "Thanks," I said once I swallowed. "My compliments to Mrs. Smith."

Course I couldn't forget about my furry companion. I tore off a chunk of meat and tucked it inside my vest, trying not to wince when I felt teeth sink into my finger with the meat. Sheriff Smith gave me an expression that was close to being comical, and I didn't care if he thought I was a bit loony, but I wasn't about to introduce Crystal to him. The next time I was gonna bring her out for a meet and greet it was gonna be at home. And since it looked as if my troubles were really behind me, I could finally be on my way.

The saddle felt good. Riding, ever increasingly getting closer to Laramie, was enough to almost eliminate the pain from my two wounds. I wasn't about to forget the journey I'd been on, being jail tossed, getting shot, meeting Bobby, and becoming a Pa –I still didn't shudder referencing myself as this— but the comfort and familiarity of being on the trail was as renewing as if I'd spent the last few days relaxing on a riverbank with a fishing pole in my hands. Course that'd be something nice to do, but I figured one of the first things I'd have put in my hands once back at the ranch was some kinda tool.

The trail no longer troublesome, time swept by quickly. I'd kept to the more obscure paths and now I'd just hit the main roadway, following a clean set of stagecoach tracks that would wind down to the stage stop closest to Laramie. I followed a fence line that I helped build and saw a group of cattle nestled in a crop of grass that had been herded by me more than once. With each new mark on the dwindling trail that I met, the anticipation in my chest grew wider and I couldn't help but draw Traveler to a pause once I reached the final sign.

There below me, was home. It wasn't long before the sound of Traveler's hooves on the road announced my entry, and the first body that I saw was one that barreled right at me. I slowed the pace so I wouldn't pass him by, and reached out a hand to grip a thin shoulder, receiving an excited whoop and a wide grin to go with it as I did so. My horse stopped at the hitching rail and I dismounted, my hand now finding a clasp in a grip that was about the strength of my own. Turning to a shuffled step in the doorway, I responded with a smile when I was patted on the back. All three were talking altogether, and I did my best to make out bits and pieces of what'd gone on at the ranch in my absence.

I certainly had a lot to tell, too, and as soon as I was settled again, I'd share nearly every detail. Yeah, I said nearly. This might be my new family, but I wasn't ready yet to pull back every layer of my soul. But I could pull back my vest. And I did. Seeing her whiskers and soft imploring nose, a grin lit up my face, but I wasn't the only one aglow. I reckoned I wasn't the only one that was gonna get a soft kiss at bedtime anymore. Pulling Crystal outta my pocket, my hand brushed the wound, and a grimace briefly twitched my smile away, showing that pain still existed. I tried to cover up my wince, but I was pretty sure that the gesture hadn't been missed by either man next to me. Knowing Jonesy, he'd have to take a look at it, and if I was lucky, maybe he'd even deem it worthy enough to open up a bottle of medical purposes.

Getting ready to go inside, I took a deep breath and my eyes widened. All the familiar scents of a ranch went into my nose, but it was what curled outta the kitchen that had my attention. Not a wisp of mulligan was in the air, but the aroma of beefsteak sizzled from its pan. I was home, and I was right on time.


End file.
